


A Hell of a Feeling

by tiatodd



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, Drunk Obi-Wan, Gen, Obikin is subtle but definitely there, Oral Sex, champagne cocaine gasoline, most things in between, so mjuch sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiatodd/pseuds/tiatodd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An adventurous random events/flashback plot in which Obi-Wan desperately tries to recount the things he did last night. One of those things might have been Anakin. Essentially a song fic, based, of course, on "Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time" by Brendon! at the Disco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hell of a Feeling

The first thing Kenobi notices is that he’s naked under a thin, crumpled layer of bed sheets. Actually, one arm and one leg are under the sheets. The rest of him is exposed to the cool air of this unfamiliar room, which spins before his eyes if he turns his head for even a second. “Augh…”

His eyes sting but he glances down at himself, quickly embarrassed at what exactly is exposed. With the sudden movement he takes to cover himself up, he makes his stomach churn, and in one dizzy and surreal moment he’s dry-heaving over the edge of the bed. “What _happened_ last night?” he asks himself, throat sore and hoarse. A realization hits him--the fact that he is in a stranger’s bed--and with his heart pounding, he whips around to find, with relief, that no one is lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, dizzy again, but opens them when he discovers the darkness makes the nausea worse. On his stomach, facing the pillow he has evidently been hugging in his sleep, the troubled man tries to collect his thoughts.

Right now, the last thing he can remember is showing up with Anakin at this house while a party was in full swing.

\---

_“Anakin, again, remember to keep your wits about you,” he said. “This mission is important and you can tend to get...carried away. I don’t want to have to be taking care of you all night.”_

_“I’ll be fine, Master. Maybe you should worry about yourself for once.”_

_“Unlike you, Anakin, I have self-control. I’m not about to partake in this sort of...wild-eyed illusion.”_

_“You should at least try to blend in,” Anakin said, “or we’ll both be outed as Jedi.”_

_“Blend in, fine, but I mean it, you be careful.” They stepped up to the threshold, thick bassline of the music from inside already trying to smother their conversation. “Or you might end up passed out in a gutter somewhere.”_

_“Ooh, don’t threaten me with a good time, now.”_

_\---_

His memory is interrupted by a pounding sound from the floor above this one; footsteps, far too loud to be human. This pounding synchs with a sudden throbbing in his head and as his stomach churns again, he drops his head to the pillow.

No, he’s not unaware of his particularly hard morning erection pressing into the mattress. He’s just trying to pretend it’s not there.

And since no one else is around to see, he supposes it’s all right to get up.

Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he checks for signs of spillage of any sort, surprised there isn’t any shattered glass to be seen. However, he does spot a pair of white pumps with an interesting red flower pattern on the back--

No, that’s blood.

As his feet press down on the wood floor, a sharp pain enters the backs of his heels.

He looks at the pumps again, and back to his own feet.

“Don’t tell me…”

He instantly regrets shaking his head but holds back the nausea, tearing the sheets off the bed to bundle them around himself. Why are his clothes nowhere in sight?

He stands. The room tilts. His face is now very close to the floor. “ _Ow._ ”

Head swimming, he reaches up onto the bed to try to pull himself up. His fingers aren’t exactly numb, but everything feels soft and...not really there. The room will _not_ stop churning.

In a daze, he’s frozen in a halfway point between on the bed and on the floor, bedsheet forgotten on the floor when the door opens, impossibly and jarringly loud.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan rasps, wincing at the terrible soreness of his throat. “What...what did I _do_ last night?”

“What didn’t you do,” said Anakin, clearly amused as he tried his best to shut the door quietly behind him. “Mr. Life of the Party.”

“I’m serious, what _happened_ last--” He remembers he’s naked, frantically pulling up the sheets around him as he stands, wobbles, and leans against the bed, legs spread to support himself. “Last night. I’m unbelievably dizzy…”

“You’re probably still drunk, which...impressive, but understandable, considering the pace you set.” Anakin looks him up and down, eyebrows rising slowly as a grin crawls onto his face. “You’re trying to figure out if I’m lying. Obi-Wan...look at yourself.”

“It--it’s simply not in my nature to--I would _never_ \--”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Several times last night.” He reaches his arm toward Obi-Wan and for the first time, the older man notices there’s a glass of water in his hand. The way it sloshes makes his stomach do the same, but he takes it anyway. “Until you were about...what, five shots in, telling me, and I quote, verbatim: ‘I’m not as think as you drunk I am.’”

“I--I did _five_ shots?”

“Oh, trust me, you did more than that.”

Obi-Wan’s face goes uncomfortably hot. He puts the glass of water to his lips, now aware of the _awful_ taste in his very dry mouth. The first sip of water he takes is impulsively followed by several gulps until he’s had more than half the glass, so quickly he chokes and splutters. This doesn’t help the headache and he groans.

In the silence, or perhaps during the coughing fit, he actually does remember the cold, hard feeling of a shotglass in his fingers.

\---

_Music pulsed through his body, through his elbows which supported him leaning back against the bar. His feet felt uncomfortably pinched. He looked down, vision lagging. Right, the heels. He was about to kick them off. Why didn’t he?_

_Oh, he’d tried. As soon as he lifted his toe to slip one off, he felt himself falling. The shotglass in his hand threatened to spill, and it’s amazing that it didn’t. Not wanting to waste the contents, Obi-Wan tossed it back in the same second as he caught himself. A crowd cheered around him. He smiled a little, then smiled wider, loving the feeling of it in his cheeks._

_“Think you can handle another, old man?”_

_“‘F course I can, I’m not_ that _old!”_

_Some muddledness. A full shot in his hand. The liquor had lost its sting, now as gentle as water on his numbed tongue. The feeling was so delicious and he thought to himself,_ If I keep drinking will it feel more good? _And he answered the question with another shot._

_Well, half a shot._

_The rest spilled and so did he, hitting the floor with what would normally be a painfully jarring force. He laughed, head bumping back against the paneling of the bar, and hiccupped aloud. “Oh, that hurts kind of.” Someone offered to help him up but he waved them off, too late realizing he actually did want to be standing. Or at least, standing at the bar for more to drink._

_He scrambled to grab_ something _to pull himself up on, hands gripping a bar stool. As he pulled himself up, the white heels he wore slipped across his spilled shot and he went down again, surrounded by a chorus of mostly good-natured laughter._

_“He-y can someone tell--_ hic _\--me why I’m...wearing these?” he asked, suddenly leaning against the bar with no recollection of getting back up._

_Someone started to explain it to him but he got lost in the sound of the music, nodding along, his face flushed. Looking before him, he saw a very familiar and lovely face. “Anakin!”_

_He couldn’t figure out what Anakin was saying; it was so loud in there. But it sounded like he was repeating himself and trying very hard to stay calm and positive. His lips were very pink and pretty. “--think maybe you’ve had enough?”_

_“No, I don’--hhht think that at all. Why don’t you have some!”_

_“Obi-Wan, I’ve already--”_

_“--hey, man, check this out,” someone new on the other side of him interjects, placing small mint-green tabs of something on the bar. This new person was very attractive indeed, probably as young as Anakin and with dark, nicely-trimmed facial hair and a very transparent crop top._

_“What’s that?”_

_“You wanna find out?”_

\---

“All...all I did was drink, right?” he asks, a little terrified.

“You wish.”

The water has settled coldly in his stomach. The nausea takes over again and he looks blandly at the floor, waiting for another dry heave to double him over. It doesn’t happen; the unpleasant feeling simply ebbs, but doesn’t go away completely.

He lies back on the bed, hoping the sickness will go away, and hears Anakin chuckle in a way that says he’s making fun.

“What.”

“Looks like the circus is in town.”

“What?” Obi-Wan repeats tiredly, simply watching the texture of the ceiling as it swirls like an impressionist painting.

“Nice tent.”

Still a bit confused, Obi-Wan leans up on his elbows--eyes immediately drawn to the part of the bedsheets Anakin is unmistakably talking about. Unthinkingly, he wads up a bunch of the fabric and presses it down on himself, having to hold back a groan. “This is the worst morning…”

“Could’ve been worse.”

He shifts til he’s on his stomach again, looking down at the floor but facing Anakin. The blood-stained pumps are before his eyes. “So...where...did I get these?”

“Beats me, honestly, you were moving at the speed of sound,” says Anakin, leaning beside him on the bed. That small amount of motion is sickening. “But it was probably that, um. Hah. That...girl in the wedding dress.”

“Wedding dress?” Obi muses, making himself drink more water.

“Yeah, she was pretty happy with you,” he says. “Confessed she was in love. Though I think I’d be doing the same if you were under _my_ dress for that long.”

He chokes, water spluttering out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin and neck with uncomfortable coldness. “Wh-hat do you mean?”

“Never mind it,” says Anakin, getting back off the bed and grabbing the water glass. “Probably better for you that you don’t remember. I’m actually gonna come back with like, a pitcher of this. Sit tight.”

Humiliated on all fronts, Obi-Wan huffs and wiggles back on the bed, throwing the bed sheet over himself in an attempt to disappear.

The sensation of fabric falling so lightly on his shoulders and neck is instantly familiar.

\---

_She was gorgeous, and Obi-Wan couldn’t speak, and she was practically begging him. It was nice being on his knees before this dark-haired woman, made up and jeweled with the utmost intricacy. Several drinks had caused some of her dark curls to tumble from her regal updo._

_“‘F you’re sure,” he felt himself saying, mouth full of cotton as he leaned his cheek against her knee._

_“You’re so_ gorgeous! _” she gushed for the tenth time. Bashful, Obi-Wan hid his face under the skirt of her dress. She moaned instantly, reminding him that this was what she’d wanted. “Yes! Make me forget all about him!”_

_The bluish light filtering through her thin wedding gown felt like some sort of gentle heaven. Smooth thighs were at either side of his face and before him was an inviting triangle of lace._

_Only a hint of shyness weakly tried to hold him back, but he was proud of himself for pushing past that, his mouth now on her. She showed her appreciation very vocally._

_He wasn’t actually sure what to do, having never done this before, but no one was exactly under here to watch him so he just went with his impulse to keep kissing._ Just like kissing someone’s lips _, he thought to himself before realizing he had never actually kissed anyone before._ But I’ve seen Padme kiss Anakin.

_So he kept that image in his mind, hands slipping over her thighs, fingers toying idly with the sides of her panties. With his eyes closed, Obi-Wan drew up, in vivid detail, memories he had of walking in on his former Padawan kissing his “secret” wife._

_The woman he now serviced let out a crackled moan and he smiled, nuzzling her proudly. Her wetness is a source of brief confusion, and he doesn’t want her underwear to get ruined, so he takes them off of her gently, down her legs to where her silver sandals are bound by ribbon to her ankles._

_Now his lips touched what felt more like lips, and it was causing the would-have-been bride a good deal of vocalization. Replacing his hands onto her thighs, he shifted for a better angle, closed his eyes again, and kissed._

Anakin likes it when she does this _, he thought, reaching out with his tongue to slowly tantalize what was before him. He moaned, fingers curling, and promptly remembered he was not actually kissing Anakin._

_Nevertheless, it was fun to make_ someone _feel this good, and as his teeth grazed her gently she shuddered._

_\--_

_In the same room, Anakin was looking around frantically for him, worried he’d actually lost him this time. “Is this what it’s like to try to keep track of_ me _?” he grumbled, irritated at the whole situation, but knowing full well that he himself would not ever stop being this difficult to keep up with._

_“Ya lookin’ for that friend o’ yourn?”_

_“Yes,” Anakin sighed, frankly embarrassed that everyone knew that they were here together. “You seen him?”_

_The owner of the voice, a tall, gangly fellow with amphibious green skin, nodded bemusedly at a group of people surrounding a woman in a wedding dress, who, given the tracks down her face, had been crying a while ago._

_Anakin made for the small crowd, looking for his former master among them, and was quite irritated when he couldn’t find him._

_Then he saw the white pumps._

_On the feet of someone kneeling under the skirt of the altar-abandoned bride._

_Anakin stared on with his mouth open until he decided that this was too intimate of a moment for him to watch--though these other creeps apparently didn’t think the same. Averting his eyes, he did a quick mental check of his own night, certain he’d stopped drinking early on, certain he was incredibly sober right now._

_\--_

_He couldn’t exactly remember what had literally_ just _happened but the woman was very pleased with him indeed, trying to pull up the top of her strapless dress. Truthfully, it was too small to fit over her bust._

_Obi-Wan was still on his knees, arms folded over her lap and his chin on his hands._

_“And here I thought I was going to be depressed all night,” she said, breathlessly, backed by a chorus of laughter. Obi-Wan just grinned along, feeding off the happy energy of everyone around them._

_The ex-bride leaned forward, ample breasts nearly spilling right back out of her dress. She took Obi-Wan’s face in her hands, stroking his beard._

_“Should I pay you back for that, darling?”_

_A chorus of faux-scandalized “ooh”s sounded around them._

_“What--what d’you mean?” Perhaps he would’ve understanded better if he’d actually been watching her face as she asked that. But it was a bit hard to focus on anything besides her breasts. Or...actually, anything at all, at this point._

_She lifted his chin up with her hand. The room would just not stop spinning, he supposed. “Look at me, dear,” her sweet voice said, and he did look, for probably two seconds. She laughed, addressing the crowd. “He’s too precious!”_

_“Me?”_

_“Yes, you.” She didn’t try to get him to focus this time. “Do you want me to get you off, too?”_

_The small crowd “ooh”ed again. Obi-Wan’s face felt red hot. “What?”_

_“Do you want,” she said slowly, caringly, caressing his inner thigh with the toe of her shoe. Obi-Wan looked up at her face again, eyes naturally dropping lower. Fingers splayed out across her breasts, she pushed them together. “Me to take care of_ that _,” she lightly pressed the ball of her foot into the crotch of his pants, “for you?”_

_She pulled up the top of her dress a little more. He swallowed thickly. “You--mean with those?”_

_She laughed again. “Would you like that?”_

_“Uh, I, I--um...th’re very nice,” he said, trying his best to ultimately stand on his feet. With a stagger and a sway, he made it. “I won’t bother you for it. I don’t want to bother you for it.”_

_“It’s not at all a bother!” she insisted, sounding on the edge of laughter again as she took both his hands. One, she led to the back of the chair upon which he sat, so he would have something to lean against. “Don’t you want me to get you off?”_

_“I’ve got--Anakin could if I needed, I guess?” That wasn’t right. “I don’t--well he couldn’t do_ that _but…” That’s not what he meant to be saying about Anakin. What was he trying to say?_

_“Anakin? Who’s that?”_

_“‘S just someone...he’s. We’re very close, and we have this...bond…” He couldn’t think of the word “friend.” That’s all he needed. “You don’t haff to, I should find--_ hhp! _\--should find him.”_

_“I’m right here, let’s go, come on.”_

_“Anakin! W’re you there th’ whole time?”_

_Anakin caught him by the wrist and pulled him away. He looked very red in this lighting. But wait, there weren’t any red lights._

_\---_

Eyes wide, stomach _definitely_ sick, Obi-Wan racks his brain for ways to prove to himself that was a dream. He can’t think of a single damn thing.

And then he remembers Anakin literally just told him he’d been in that position.

He can’t believe himself. At the same time, he feels a weird sort of pride at knowing he was such the sensation last night.

For the life of him, he can’t remember where Anakin took him after that.

And as for the... _annoyance_ pressed between his stomach and the mattress, that isn’t going away soon. Not on its own. Not after _that_ memory.

He looks at the door. Then gets up onto his elbows, looking down at himself. Even just the thought of him touching himself is incredibly arousing. But what if Anakin comes back?

Maybe he can be quick about it.

Eyes on the door, he lies backward on the bed, parallelling himself to the door so he can avoid too terribly much in the way of embarrassment. _Or you can wait_ , he scolds himself, but as long as he’s here…

He arranges the bedsheet over himself in a way that offers the most coverage for when he spreads his knees. Shame and eager arousal mix in a dangerous tumult in his stomach. It doesn’t help the nausea one bit, but once his warm hand grips his own cock, the upsetness of his stomach may as well not exist.

As he pumps, he closes his eyes to find his head still spinning a great deal. This somehow makes his present situation more erotic and he begins to lose himself, hips and feet squirming. He’s sort of falling back asleep, and then (literally) jerking himself back awake, over and over. It’s a uniquely blissful experience.

The thing is, while it feels exquisite, he’s not making much progress toward finishing.

So it’s time to summon up a fantasy, though he’s never really allowed himself to have those. Last night should do.

He recalls her beauty in detail, trying his best not to go for the obvious; but if he had been in a different state of mind, he’d have _loved_ to get off all over her massive, heavy--

Instinctively, he shuts off the thought, embarrassed at himself. 

He’s very embarrassed, and slightly uncomfortable, and then his thumb moves lightly against his cock and he has to hold back a moan.

Now he slips into a rhythm natural enough for him to doze off, though he’s still half-trying to think of some fantasy. He can’t get the image out of his head of Padme and Anakin kissing. It just naturally settles in and makes itself at home. 

Within moments, and with an unpoliced whimper, his orgasm washes over him. He literally feels, for a moment, like he’s under constantly churning waves in the most peaceful way. It’s almost too natural to stop himself, but he suppresses the impulse to whisper “Anakin” as he comes down from the peak of pleasure.

When he hears the door shutting, he’s grateful he didn’t.

Obi-Wan quickly tries to get into a “natural” position, one leg down on the bed while the other is still bent at the knee. He puts an arm behind his head, heart thrumming as he tries to stay calm. His eyes blink open and the image of Anakin in his head is replaced with a more real, more beautiful image. He hopes Anakin hasn’t noticed him shiver.

Anakin, however, is red, from his cheeks to his ears to his neck. He’s got a pitcher of water in one hand and the door handle in the other, face calm despite the redness. “Well hey there. Thirsty?”

“What?” he replies, a little out of breath, his breath hitching as one more shock of pleasure finds its way through his body.

“I said are you thirsty. I--cause the water. Pitcher of it. Anyway.”

Anakin hasn’t left the door. Obi-Wan squints at him, heart racing. “Did you just get in here?”

“Yep,” says Anakin, too quickly, as he walks to the bed and hands the water to his friend. “Yep. Just...just now.”

Feeling he’s being mocked, Obi-Wan huffs out of embarrassment and frustration, turning his head away and trying to somehow casually shrink into the bedsheet. It takes .1 second for Anakin to start giggling. “Oh _fuck_ off.”

“I think you’ve taken care of that aspect of things.”

“ _Anakin.”_ Startlingly enough, uttering that name sent another sort of shiver through him.

“I cannot be _lieve_ \--”

“Anakin, please!”

“Fine, fine, drink your damn water.”

He practically inhales it, partially due to thirst and mostly to avoid the most recent topic. He pulls the sheets up self-consciously around himself, wishing he had honestly just stayed asleep.

He sets the pitcher down on the floor beside the bloodied heels, ignoring Anakin to turn over and try to sleep a little longer. Or maybe all day. “Go do whatever. I’m sleeping.”

“Is this just to get me out of the room so you can keep--”

“Do shut up.”

“Whatever, then, I will go shower.”

Obi-Wan sighed and closed his eyes, curling in on himself to go to sleep. But a shadow of a memory called to him. “Didn’t you shower last night--?”

“You remember that?”

He remembers rushing water. He remembers touching it. He remembers his naked feet on cold tile, in front of Anakin’s. “A little?”

“Well, no, it wasn’t me,” he says. “I was actually cleaning _you_ up. Casue you were a hot mess.”

Obi-Wan suddenly very distinctly recalls Anakin’s bare chest under his hand, but the specific sensation he remembers about it is that it didn’t feel real under his hand. He writes it off as a dream. “Well...thank you.”

“Least I could do,” Anakin says with a bit of reservation. “So I’ll...be back, then.”

Obi-Wan hums in acknowledgement and turns over in the bed, trying to get comfortable enough to drift off. As soon as he’s almost asleep, he twists awake, eyes snapping open. “Damn, the shoes...they weren’t hers.”

He sits up on the edge of the bed and looks down at the mysterious pumps. Taking another large gulp of water, he accidentally triggers an onslaught of hiccups, whining at the soreness in his throat. “Not again.”

He tries to hold his breath, letting it out with relief as it appears the hiccups have left.

But they haven’t. With even that small jolting movement, his head spins. The clock tells him it’s less than ten hours into the morning, and if he’s had as much to drink as Anakin said...he really is still drunk. “Wonderful.”

Despite this, he stands, wobbling, vision greying out for a minute, and folds the bed sheet enough to wrap it around his waist without tripping. Wincing disgustedly as he looks down, he also uses the corner of the sheet to wipe off his stomach.

He focuses on each step, the textured carpeting churning like an optical illusion. He reaches the door, using the doorframe for support as he opens it and steps out into the hall. Before him is a railing; he’s a story (or two?) up from the first floor.

Looking over the edge, he sees the bar and a large and expensive seating area. One person is asleep across three cushions of it and there’s a mess of half-empty cups and glasses dotting the room. Seeing the shot glasses on the table vaguely tugs at his memory, but his ear is distracted by the startup sound of water.

Another memory creeps into his mind. Anakin again, looking up into his eyes. Up? But Anakin is taller than him. He remembers his toes curling against the tile.

If he tries too hard to remember anymore, it all slips away. He curses at himself, hiccups, and grabs the railing to counteract the tilting. Focusing on those shot glasses, the memory suddenly comes to him.

\---

_“How about a bet, then,” gruffly spake the 10-foot-tall mass of muscle across the sofa from Obi-Wan. “Just somethin’ friendly. To prove you’re not the haughty tight-ass I thought ya were.”_

_“I--what sort of bet.”_

_The large bluish-gray man laughed. “Jus’ for fun, I’d like to see you show off them legs,” he said. “In those shoes that feller’s got on.” He pointed at a very pretty, half-conscious man slouched in a chair, being doted on by his buzzed and troubled boyfriend. On his feet, he wore a simple pair of two-inch white pumps._

_“I--I’m not sure those would fit me.”_

_“Well, you better win, then.”_

_“Well what am I betting on?” said Obi-Wan. “And what will you have to do if_ you _lose?”_

_He leaned in close enough for the Jedi to feel his hot, booze-laden breath on his face. “I’ll have to watch you_ not _walk around in them heels.”_

_“Oh. Right, seems fair, then.”_

_The man laughed again, chorused by his troop. “Here’s the wager, then…” He stroked his chin for a moment. “Stragroff,” he said finally, leaning back as a thinner man leaned in to listen. He whispered something into his ear. Obi-Wan watched impatiently and in a few minutes, two tall glasses of beer were set before them as well as three shot glasses filled with a pink liquored drink. “Here’s the wager. I bet you that I can finish these two beers before you finish those three shots.”_

_“Well that…” Confused, Obi-Wan picked up a shot glass, examining it for signs of trickery. “That hardly seems fair...to you.”_

_“Well then this bet should be easy for you.”_

_With a spike of confidence, Obi-Wan grinned smugly, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll take that bet.”_

_“Good sport!” The man clapped him on the shoulder playfully and with a lot of force. “Only got one rule for you.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Can’t touch each other’s glasses. Is that clear?”_

_“What? Of course,” said Obi-Wan, a bit worried he hadn’t thought of that rule before. If that rule hadn’t been made, what’s to say this brute wouldn’t have knocked his shots right off the table? “Enough stalling, then.”_

_They laughed together this time and the man motioned for Obi-Wan to go first. Quirking an eyebrow, he lifted the shot, and as soon as it touched his lips the man began to chug one of his beers. He was a bit nervous about how quickly that glass was draining; half empty by the time Obi-Wan got to his second shot. But nevertheless, still only half of one glass._

_He felt better when he finished his second shot just a hair after his opponent finished the beer. And then his heart sank as he reached for his third shot and found it blocked from him...by the man’s upturned beer glass._

_Yes, his third shot was caged, and the One Rule flashed through his head as though he’d seen it in print: no touching the opponent’s glass. “Damn,” he murmured, face red as he looked up at the grinning man, accepting his doom. Everyone around was laughing._

_Obi-Wan watched as the glass of beer was drained at a leisurely pace, long enough for the two shots to start affecting him._

_He glanced over at the shoes._

\---

“Well that explains that,” he mutters to himself, unsure what he wants to do now. Mostly he just wants to go home. Before another memory just pops up uninvited.

The night is becoming a little more clear, though perhaps not the chronology of it. He pushes down the memories of partaking in recreational drug use. He does remember a fit of vomiting, and then another in a separate location. That explains the throat soreness.

What he realizes he’s been racking his brain for is the exact moment he lost all his clothes. It had to have been before Anakin and the bathroom, or...that was a dream, or…

He remembers his eyes closed, his pants coming off first. He remembers trusting the person completely.

He remembers cold tile under his feet.

The top of a head of dark hair.

That’s literally all he can remember. There’s nothing else. His memories of the night are irreparably damaged, and part of him is glad of that.

Returning to the room from whence he woke, he sits on the bed and just stares blankly at the door. The only thing going through his mind is the sheer embarrassment he’d felt involving the girl in the wedding dress and Anakin essentially dragging him away.

He sort of dozes off sitting up until the door opens and Anakin is there, fully clothed but with droplets of water hanging from his hair and clinging to what’s visible of his collarbone. “Welcome back.”

Anakin smiles and leans against the door. “Well you think you’re ready to go?”

“Not quite, I...I can’t recall what happened to my clothes? I remember the shoes, I lost a bet…”

Anakin bursts out laughing. “Yeah I can’t believe you fell for that one!”

“So you _did_ know!”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Well, the fact remains, I still can’t think when I lost my clothes.”

“Man...I have them,” says Anakin, sighing on the ends of his laughter. “I had this thought about pranking you but honestly, you’ve been through enough.”

“I’ll _say_.”

“Oh come on, don’t be mad! It was a fun night.”

Obi-Wan’s glare (which comes across as more of a pout) is ruined by another hiccup. “Well give them here, then.”

“All right, follow me.”

Loathe to stand up again, Obi-Wan begrudgingly follows Anakin out of the room. He can’t take his eyes off the back of his neck, upon which are several purplish blotches. And the redness of some sort of skin irritation.

He strokes his beard, and shakes his head.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” says Anakin.

“Oh, you know, just focusing on walking straight.”

Anakin hums a laugh.

Obi-Wan’s feet finally meet the cold bathroom tiles again. His clothes are folded on the sink. He looks in the mirror, tousled hair staring right back at him. He blushes deeply as he spots the purple marks on his neck, as well. And his chest, and shoulders. Glancing at Anakin’s reflection, he sees the boy curiously preoccupied with--what, verifying the thread count of the towels?

“Anakin…”

“Hm?”

Right now he’s got to choose. He has to either ask this question or not. _Did we do anything last night?_ sits on his mind, on the back of his tongue. Anakin isn’t pushing for him to ask. “Why...didn’t you just take me home?”

“Ahah---ahahah _ahahahahaha_ show up at the Jedi temple with _you_ like _that?_ Like this even? Listen, we’re going out for food or something, you have got to sober up.”

“I see. And I assume you’ll be paying?”

Anakin tenses up for just a fraction of a second. There’s also a hint of a smile as he looks down and away. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Obi-Wan chokes on--he doesn’t know, air or something, and in the midst of his coughing fit he hiccups violently and clutches the edge of the sink. Anakin’s laughing again, and Obi-Wan has had enough, so he drops the bedsheet to the floor of the bathroom and reaches leisurely for his clothes.

Anakin’s laughs have turned quiet. Obi-Wan no longer needs to ask what he was going to.

“Well...let’s get going, then.”


End file.
